How To Drink
by Galaxy-Defending-Hopeful
Summary: Of course Dougie doesn't listen to Tom's warnings about why fifteen year olds shouldn't drink vodka. Does he have to be so damn sneaky about it, though? 2003!fic, swearing, drinking, Junes and Floynter (not ship central), friendship Fludd. Dedicated to Marvin Fletcher (for being a fantastic person) and kbeto (for being the most well known author in the fandom).


**We all love some bandhouse fic, and we all love some Dougie. This is based off of my own experiences as well as those of my friends (I've got some stupid friends). Floynter, Junes, swearing, drunkness.**

* * *

Dougie's never been this drunk before.

He's had beer before, and a few ciders. A sneaked couple of glasses of red wine, maybe. He's never tried spirits before.

It feels good.

* * *

"Doug, you're fifteen. Don't drink vodka, for god's sake, stick to the beer." Tom had very firmly told him earlier that evening.

"You and Danny and Harry drink vodka, and whiskey!" Dougie protested, reaching slowly behind Tom for the tall bottle. Tom slid directly in front of it.

"I'm eighteen, and they're almost eighteen. Dougie, I can't stop you from drinking it, but I strongly advise you not to."

A plan formed in Dougie's head. "Okay, I won't drink it. I'll get a beer."

Tom grinned. "Film starts in a minute, hurry up with it!"

* * *

Dougie's plan was pretty clever, or so he thought. He'd pour beer from the freshly opened bottle into a glass until the glass was half full, and then he'd put the beer bottle on the floor amid the empty bottles ready for recycling. Then he'd get the vodka bottle and fill the glass to the brim with it, replacing the missing spirit with water (thank god vodka was clear). He smiled as he did it, thoughts slowly developing in his mind. What would it taste like? Did it look like beer? Would they notice that the vodka was watered down?

"Doug, the film's starting!" Harry called from the living room. Taking a sip from the glass, Dougie grimaced slightly at the strong taste before dashing into the living room to watch the film.

* * *

Towards the end of the film, Dougie felt something damp on his hand. Glancing down, he saw that his glass was tilting and a little bit had dribbled onto the sofa. He'd forgotten about his drink! A wide grin split his face as he thought about his secret.

"Film's not that good, Dougie!" James Bourne, a good friend of all of them, was over to watch the film. Obviously he had seen the bright smile on Dougie's face.

"I just thought of something, that's all." Dougie replied with another smile. Lifting the glass up, he took a long gulp from it. It didn't burn like he had expected it to, but it didn't exactly taste great. Taking another sip, he found that the bitter, pure-alcohol taste was reduced a little. By the time he had drained the glass a minute later, he could just taste beer. Suddenly, his bandmates and James all began to laugh at the movie. Dougie turned back to it, and found that already, after only a minute or two, he felt a bit weird. He was dizzy, but in a way that he had never been dizzy before. The entire room wasn't spinning, more vibrating slowly in a way which was more unnerving than anything else.

"You okay, Dougie?" Harry asked from his position on the other sofa (draped across Danny, who as well as his bandmate was his boyfriend).

"Yeah, I'm fantastic!" Dougie replied, grinning. He felt warm, and like he needed a wee. "Just going to the loo – don't bother pausing it for me!"

* * *

This was _weird_. Dougie felt as if every single thing was absolutely hilarious. Weird thoughts kept popping into his head too, like _what if people could swap eyes_. His head was throbbing, but not in a necessarily unpleasant way, more in that kind of way when you press hard on an almost faded bruise, and you want to keep doing it even though it makes it throb because it's kind of nice.

"Dougie?" someone was banging hard at the door. Tom. Dammit.

"Y-yeah!" Dougie replied, acutely aware of the fact that his voice was wobbling and trying hard to disguise it.

"Did you drink your beer too fast?" Tom called sympathetically, which made a strange, sickly anger surge through Dougie.

"No, I bloody well didn't! I'm not a kid, Tom, I can handle my alcohol!" he shouted back.

Tom was puzzled. Sweet, quiet, pervy Dougie wouldn't respond like that. Unless...no. He wouldn't have blatantly lied to him, would he? Creeping away, Tom entered the kitchen and looked at the bottle of vodka. It was just as full as before of the clear liquid, but the seal was snapped. Unscrewing the cap, Tom took a tiny, burning sip. Not quite as burning as it should have been. Dougie had topped it with water, the clever git.

* * *

"Haz, can I borrow you for a second?" Tom asked, popping his head around the corner of the living room door. Harry pulled away from Danny (who groaned and cheekily shifted his hand onto Harry's arse) and stood up, weaving around James – who was, for some unknown reason, lying face down on the carpet – and leaving the room with Tom.

"What's up?"

"I think Dougie's drunk. He must have mixed vodka in with his beer."

Harry looked thoughtfully at Tom for a second, before smiling a little.

"What's funny?" Tom asked.

"He'll regret it in the morning. When I first got pissed, I was fifteen and it was on mixed drinks, and _fuck _was the hangover bad. I doubt he'll sneak vodka again at least for another year."

Tom nodded. "I don't want to restrict him – obviously, I can't anyway – but I really don't think his family'd be best pleased if they knew what he was doing. I'm not going to tell them (obviously), but he needs to think a bit."

Harry properly laughed then. "Tom, let him be an idiot, let him drink a bit too much, let him try weed. He's only fifteen, he'll do a lot of growing up between now and say, 2005."

"I guess so. I think I'd better go and help him out of the bathroom, I think he's properly wasted." Tom replied. Harry nodded, before re-entering the living room.

* * *

"Doug?"

No answer.

"Dougie?"

A faint groan.

"I'm gonna open the door, Doug, you've been in there for a while."

Nothing.

Sighing, Tom pushed the door hard and then stumbled – it wasn't locked like he was anticipating. Dougie was sat on the floor, leaning against the bathtub, with his head in his hands.

"Are you okay, Dougie?"

"My head won't stop spinning..." the younger boy groaned. Suddenly, he turned to his side and vomited noisily over the floor, the disgusting alcohol-stinking fluid splashing everywhere. Tom felt a touch of sympathy but pushed it away, determined to use Dougie's own predicament to try and teach him a lesson.

"Come on, Doug, you need to sleep." Tom bent a little and grabbed Dougie's arm, pulling him upwards just a little roughly.

"I'm thirsty."

"Have some water from the tap, then."

To Tom's surprise, Dougie zombie-walked over to the sink before turning the tap on and sticking his mouth beneath it. Water drained in and Dougie glugged it down, taking a litre easily before he turned the tap again. Then he followed Tom obediently to his bedroom.

* * *

Dougie was never going to drink again.

The second he awoke he made that vow to himself.

His head was splitting, his tongue was dry and he was pretty sure that he'd wet himself. The sickly smell of bile was uncomfortably close to his nose, and when he opened his eyes to check where it was he found just how badly the light burned his eyes. On the bedside table a pint of water was sat, along with a jam sandwich.

_Don't drink vodka, you tit. Tom xxx_

Dougie couldn't help but crack a grin as he drained the water. He felt too sick for the sandwich, however. Coaxing himself out of bed, he was determined to go and thank Tom for thinking of him. However, a bolt of horror stopped him. He didn't remember last night. He didn't remember drinking. He didn't remember changing into his pyjamas, nor closing the curtains or getting into bed. A sinking sensation filled him when he realised that it must have been Tom who did it all. Tom, the cute eighteen year old that turned Dougie on more than just a little bit.

"Afternoon, sleepyhead."

Dougie turned to see Tom stood at the doorway, grinning.

"Thanks for...well, for everything."

Tom laughed. "Harry talked a bit of sense into me. I can't see you drinking that much vodka in one go for a while, anyway."

Dougie cracked a grin. "No. I feel like shit."

"You look pretty cute." Tom instantly replied, a hazy pink colour staining his pale cheeks almost instantly.

"Not as cute as you."

The next motion was so fluid that it felt almost practised, and felt as natural as eating or talking. Dougie stepped forward in a clean movement and pressed his lips against Tom's, something he had waited several months to do. Tom responded, moving his own lips, before pulling away.

"What's wrong?" Dougie asked, biting his lip. A hearty laugh echoed from Tom.

"Your breath tastes rank."


End file.
